


there is thunder in our hearts

by raikkonen (armario)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: 2018 season, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21572131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armario/pseuds/raikkonen
Summary: Esteban isn’t his child, no matter how much he acts like one. None of this can be kissed better, and words are simply wind.
Relationships: Esteban Ocon/Sergio Perez
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56





	there is thunder in our hearts

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY AAAAAAA
> 
> this was so difficult to write because i wanted it to be good so desperately !!!! it underwent a thousand redrafts, i scrapped the whole thing a few times, and eventually went with an idea that YOU CAME UP WITH ugh im so unoriginal. but here it is. i hope you like it. happy birthday, i love you becks!!
> 
> P.S ~ shout out to monday for having a galaxy brain; this fic has been in the works for over a month now, and your checo/esteban fic used an 'ave maria' line too !!!

Esteban didn’t knock.

He always knocks. Something is wrong. 

There is the noisy clatter of keys being tossed carelessly to the floor; the thud of Esteban’s bag being dumped in the hallway. 

Checo stands and waits for the whirlwind, eyes fixed warily on the door, which is soon thrown open with a dramatic bang.

A pause. They look at each other. Instead of the tentative, aggravating affection he expects to feel upon seeing Esteban, he only finds a cold, instinctual fear.

“Well, you got what you wanted,” Esteban says, flippant and falsely bright.

Checo forces himself into calmness. He’s sensing an argument in the same way you can taste a storm on the wind. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, evenly.

Esteban shrugs. The offhandedness of the action doesn’t match the weight of pain in his voice as he answers, “I lost my seat.”

Shock widens Checo’s eyes and his lips part with a million questions on the tip of his tongue. He'd spent so long fearing the loss of his own seat that he barely even considered how he'd feeling racing without Esteban. The kid has been the bane of his existence, but the bond between them is being severed way too suddenly before his eyes and there's nothing he can do to stop it. 

The worrying thing is that he doesn't even feel relieved. If Esteban has lost his seat, then his own is safe. So why does he feel so sick? Why is it guilt that’s turning him to stone in the face of his rival? 

He doesn’t need to ask how or why it happened. Money is everything in this circus, and Williams hadn’t been living up to Stroll’s undoubtedly unfeasible standards. 

Checo had been so sure it would be him.

“What will you do?” is all he can think to query. 

This opens the floodgates. 

“I don’t _know,”_ Esteban frets. He starts to pace the room, filling it with echoes of his tangible distress. He is a hurricane of emotion that Checo is determined not to get swept up in. 

They will get through this. They must. Because losing Esteban is no longer an unappealing concept- it’s an unfathomable one.

Convincing himself to hate Esteban was easy; to roughly pull his head back by a fistful of his hair and spit, _no eres nada para mí,_ while Esteban exhaled on a shaky, desperate moan, because the foreign words still belied the sentiment, or lack of, behind them. It was easy to cast him out of his bed the moment the post-coital tristesse kicked in. It was easy to treat him like a doll, to be played with and tossed aside when Checo had had enough. 

__

Accepting that he _needs_ Esteban... is difficult. Admitting it is nigh impossible.

__

“I worked so fucking hard,” Esteban rages. “But it’s never enough. It always comes down to money, doesn’t it? My father wouldn’t buy me a place in Formula 1. I would work until I got it on merit. Until I deserved it. Don’t I deserve it?” he yells, voice cracking on a hysterical sob.

__

“Don’t cry,” Checo pleads, uselessly.

__

When Esteban stops his tirade to finally still and fix his teammate with eyes brimming with tears, the fury filters out of him as though exorcised. The tragic picture knocks the breath out of Checo. 

__

He wants to paint it. _The Shattered Dream,_ by Sergio Pérez Mendoza. 

__

Instead, he swallows. His mouth is dry. 

__

“Don’t cry,” he repeats, softer now.

__

His words have the opposite effect because Esteban slides down the wall, tucks his knees up to his chest and starts to cry in earnest, the sound muffled by his sleeves.

__

Checo stares at him, powerless. His whole body is tense with the restless need to _do_ something, to share or take away Esteban’s pain.

__

But he doesn’t know how. 

__

When Carlota skinned her knee, he gathered her up, kissed it better, called her _mi hija valiente._ Esteban isn’t his child, no matter how much he acts like one. None of this can be kissed better, and words are simply wind.

__

So there he stands, motionless as a statue and equally unresponsive, watching Esteban cry for everything he’s lost. 

__

And then, in that moment of heavy, sombre silence, a thought enters his mind unbidden, devastating in its simplicity.

__

_You are the first person he told._

__

It changes everything. Upon receiving the most heartbreaking news of his life and career, Esteban’s first port of call was his rival. He had faith that Checo wouldn’t gloat, he wouldn’t celebrate, or express his relief. 

__

He came here for comfort. And Checo feels utterly disgusted with himself for not recognising it. 

__

He crosses the room and crouches down in front of Esteban, who raises his head, defiance glimmering in his red-rimmed eyes.

__

“What do you need?” Checo asks quietly, and it’s a far cry from his usual, sneering, _what do you **want?**_

__

“My seat back,” Esteban mutters, sniffling and wiping his eyes. 

__

“What do you need from _me?”_ Checo clarifies, because now he understands, he has the bit between his teeth. He’s been fucking awful to Esteban, always pushing him away until- as Esteban once put it- “the next time your wife’s too tired to open her legs”- but here, ironically God-given, is his chance to put it right. 

__

Making Esteban feel like a freak is not fair. Making Esteban wait patiently for scraps of emotion like a starving dog waits for scraps of food is not fair. The right thing to do is just let him go. Esteban will find someone else. Checo won’t, he would have to try and salvage his marriage; Esteban will. Someone who will reciprocate; like dating a real person instead of a brick wall. But Checo is selfish.

__

Fear of rejection is written plainly and painfully on Esteban’s features and wary body language as he asks, “Will you just hold me?”

__

It is not only Carlota who is brave.

__

Checo wordlessly opens his arms for Esteban to settle into, bent at an awkward angle to accommodate Esteban’s stupidly long limbs and their drastic, unfortunate height difference. 

__

With his head tucked under Checo’s chin, Esteban’s shoulders start to shake as overwhelmed, he cries some more. 

__

Hesitant at first, Checo has one hand buried in and brushing through Esteban’s hair, the other rubbing at his back. 

__

He is aware that this is a turning point. Rough sex when tensions boil over between rivals is one thing, but this long since ceased to be a release of tension, uncomplicated and shallow. He’s spent too long denying the evolution of his feelings, often late at night while his wife lays beside him.

__

Carola sleeps with her back to him. He doesn’t know where to begin, to tell her that she’s doing nothing wrong, that she’s beautiful and he loves her, he’s just messed up and going through it. He presses a kiss to her shoulder and says, _te amo,_ but she always pretends she’s asleep.

__

Every time he says it, he wonders if it’s true.

__

He knows he loves his children. It’s unconditional; a familiar and warm feeling that hovers in the background even when they’re arguing or throwing tantrums or screaming the house down. He knows he’d do anything for them.

__

He thought he loved Carola. He was sure of it, until he met Esteban and everything went to shit.

__

She started to catch on; believing there was another woman. He vehemently denied it- it wasn’t true, there wasn’t another woman… there was Esteban. He tries to act normally; plays games with the kids and takes them all out on day trips. Ice cream and fairground rides are just papering over the cracks. Cheating is one of the worst sins. His wife has been so supportive, loving, and understanding, but even she has her limits. 

__

His teammate finds his way into Checo’s bed and heart until it isn’t just sex any more. Lust is further down on the list. It is topped by guilt, succeeded by frustration, followed by this new, profound emotion he could never bear to try and name. 

__

Now, he gives in and lets the concept take shape in his mind.

__

He loves Esteban. He loves him with an all-consuming, frightening intensity, fraught with guilty passion and suppressed affection. The more he repeats it in his mind, the more strongly he feels it.

__

Heaven averts its gaze in disgust.

__

He whispers all the words of reassurance he knows in English, and when he runs out, he changes to Spanish, until Esteban has no more tears left to cry.

__

“I’ll stay with you tonight,” Checo tells him. The moment the words leave his mouth, he knows it was the right decision.

__

“What about Carola?” Esteban mumbles against his shirt. 

__

Checo flinches at the mention of her name. He’s always caught between two worlds, and neither of his lovers will let him forget it. 

__

"Why would you even bring her up?" Checo asks in disbelief. Talk about looking a gift horse in the mouth. "Pendejo," he mutters, without so much of his usual bite.

__

Esteban wipes delicately at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and the way his tears keep spilling out makes Checo feel guilty. 

__

“This is more important,” he adds quietly.

__

And it isn’t even a lie. The sad truth is that this stupid, arrogant, infuriating French boy’s happiness is more important to him right now than his own family. 

__

Esteban raises his head to look at him, and with an expression of wonder on his face, his hand comes up to brush a thumb against Checo’s cheek. He’s a lamb eager for the slaughter, except his willingness can’t be explained by innocence or ignorance.

__

In his mind, he rushes through a guilty, apologetic _ave maria._ Then, for the first time, it is Checo who leans in to close the distance between them.


End file.
